Her Heart's Desire
by lovelorn45
Summary: Catherine surprises Vincent with her hopes for their future.


This is an original story, inspired by the U.S. cult T.V. series BEAUTY AND THE BEAST and was first written in 1998 and published in a fanzine in the UK. I can confirm that I am the original author.

Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Ron Koslow, Witt-Thomas Productions, Republic Pictures, CBS.

_**Her Heart's Desire.**_

"Okay Joe, I'll call DeMilio later and arrange an interview," Catherine Chandler's voice suddenly trailed away, as her gaze drifted from the charming, affable, handsome face of Joe Maxwell, her boss and good friend, to where Jeanie Howard, a former colleague here at the District Attorney's Office, had just walked into the office, pushing a baby buggy, and wearing the most enormous smile that Catherine had ever seen, as she looked down upon the sleeping child who lay quietly inside the buggy.

Catherine had never seen her friend look happier.

Jeanie had given birth to a cherubic baby girl eight weeks before, and Catherine had been one of the first of her colleagues from the DA's office to visit them both in the hospital.

Catherine had immediately fallen in love with the adorable, golden haired, blue eyed child.

And now, Catherine acknowledged that _**that**_ had been the beginning of this, restlessness.

This yearning.

This burning need.

It had begun as a joke, earlier in the year, when firstly, her friend Helen Anderson had called to say that she was expecting her second child, and was Catherine interested in becoming a Godmother, again.

A few days after that, Jeanie had come into the office, elated and beaming, a radiant smile on her lips, as she announced that she was also going to have a baby in the Fall, and in no time at all, it had seemed to Catherine that everywhere she went, she was seeing pregnant women or babies in strollers or buggies.

She had begun to wonder if there was something in the air, or the water, when many of her friends were calling to say that they were pregnant, or she heard that so and so from the Clerk of the Court's Office had just had the cutest baby boy, or thingy from her Father's office had just had an adorable baby girl, or whatshername from the computer room had just had twins!

Everywhere she turned.

Pregnant women.

Women holding babies.

Nursing babies.

Bouncing babies on their knees.

At first, Catherine had found it amusing.

But, as time had passed, and her friend's babies had begun to be born ...

It had ceased to be a joke.

And she had found herself mooning over babies in strollers whenever she went to the grocery store, the Laundromat, or for a walk in the park ...

Until, at last, she had been forced to do some serious thinking.

Forcing her self to acknowledge the need within herself.

Acknowledge that the thing that she longed for most, the one thing that was lacking in her life, her heart's greatest desire ...

Was a child.

A child of her own.

Of course, it was one thing _**acknowledging**_ the need deep within her ...

It was an altogether different thing to actually _**do**_ something about fulfilling that need.

Of course, she had reasoned with herself that her life was far too busy, far too complicated to even entertain the idea of having a child, right now.

But ...

She had also had to acknowledge that time was marching on.

She wasn't getting any younger.

She was already in her early thirties.

How much longer could she afford to put it off?

Her biological clock was ticking so loudly in her ears, it was almost deafening her!

"Chandler?" Joe Maxwell regarded her with undisguised curiosity, as he followed her grey gaze to the woman advancing on them with the baby buggy, the tone of his voice drawing Catherine's forlorn grey gaze. "Uh oh ... Oh no Chandler ... no you don't ..." He was grinning broadly now. "Don't you dare ..." He wagged a finger at her.

"What Joe?" Catherine frowned softly.

"Don't you get any ideas about ... _**that**_ ..." He indicated with a gentle movement of his head, to where Jeanie continued to stroll toward them with the baby buggy.

"Joe!" Catherine hissed a warning. It wasn't very often that he over stepped the mark of their friendship, but right at that moment, he was pretty close.

"No, I mean it Chandler. we can't afford to lose you."

"Thanks a lot Joe. I didn't realize that I needed your permission to procreate!" She glared at him.

"I mean it Chandler. Lately I can hear your biological clock ticking way back there in my office, and right now, it's chiming like Big Ben!" He grinned boyishly, and Catherine was appalled that her inner most longings had been so obvious to her friend.

"Joe ..." She hissed through clenched teeth, throwing her boss a pained look, as Jeanie leaned forward slightly, to coo at the sleeping infant, her gentle fingers unable to resist reaching out to adjust the beautiful lace edged white satin quilt that covered her daughter.

"Maxwell, leave the girl alone," Jeanie Howard threw her former boss a meaningful glance, having caught the tail end of the conversation as she had drawn closer. "You know that Catherine is far too busy, chasing around town tracking down rapists, burglars, muggers and the like, making sure that witnesses turn up to give evidence when they should, coaxing the frightened and the reluctant to come forward, covering your ass when police reports and evidence go missing. You don't give her enough time off to find Mr Right! How is she ever going to have a baby?"

"Hey guys, who says I want a baby?" Catherine interrupted, and both of them suddenly turned to look at her with knowing looks. "What?" She frowned.

"Must just be the time of the year," Joe grinned. "I could get kinda broody myself!" He chuckled, and Catherine found herself smiling despite herself.

"I'm perfectly happy to be a surrogate Aunt, or a Godmother, but_** I**_ don't have time for a baby ..."

"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much ..." Joe quipped.

"Make the time, Cathy," Jeanie advised softly. "If it's what you _**really**_ want ..."

"Right now, guys, I can't make time to grab a cup of coffee. I have to go to the County Lockup to take a deposition ..."

"You won't find Mr Right there, Chandler," Joe winked suggestively.

"Can it, Maxwell," Jeanie nudged him in the ribs, noting her friend's pained expression. "It's a myth anyway Cathy. There ain't no such animal as Mr Right, although, my Mitchell is as close as it gets," she grinned mischievously then, and Catherine rolled her eyes in exasperation.

_**You're wrong, Jeanie. I have already found Mr Right! **_Catherine thought to herself silently. _**But that's not much help right now ...**_

.For she had found herself trying to hide her true feelings from the man that she loved, for she suspected that he would not truly understand how she felt, or _**why**_ she was feeling the way that she was, despite the fact that he could _**feel**_ everything that _**she felt, when she felt it**_, as if they were one.

Sometimes it was hard to clamp down on her feelings.

Not wanting to frighten him with that need. Confuse him, by changing the boundaries of their relationship, before he was ready.

Not wanting him to feel in any way threatened by this need, over which she had no control.

She was aware that he knew that she was trying to deal with some emotional need.

But she wasn't sure if he knew _**what**_ that need was.

And she really had no desire to hurt him.

"It's good to see you again, Jeanie, and little Alice too. Don't forget to send me an invitation to the Christening," Catherine smiled softly, pulling her coat from the back of her chair and slipping it around her shoulders, before picking up her briefcase and clutch purse from the desk. "See you later, Joe, I'm outta here ..."

"Take it easy, Chandler ..."

/a\

The late October evening was quite pleasant, so after a late dinner of steak, a baked potato and salad, Catherine took her coffee out on to the terrace balcony, watching the flickering pinpoints of light in the buildings surrounding her own.

The air was scented with exhaust fumes and damp vegetation, wafting in off the park, the night filled with the noise of ambulance and police sirens, and impatient car horns honking on the street, eighteen floors below.

Cradling a fat green mug between her delicate hands, feeling it's retained heat in her fingers, and against her chest through the soft wool of her sweater, Catherine closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind.

_**He**_ would be here soon.

She wanted to be relaxed. Calm.

No distractions.

Just a pleasant evening.

A few snatched minutes with the man that she loved.

"Catherine ..."

Right on cue!

"Vincent ..."

She did not know how long he had been there, in the shadows at the end of the terrace. He was always so quiet.

"Catherine ..."

He covered the ground between them on long, swift strides, gazing down at her with such an earnest expression on his beloved, unique, leonine countenance.

"Catherine?"

"Hold me, Vincent. Please ..." She said in a low, intense voice. "I really need a hug ..."

"I know. I can feel it."

He closed the gap between them quickly, folding her into the comforting circle of his most welcome embrace, and Catherine buried her face in the rough material of his dark, flowing cloak, taking in the familiar scents of Below that he brought with him. Candle wax, candle smoke, scents that would remain with her always, and remind her of him forever. Damp, rich earth, damp wool, warm, soft leather, soap ...

Catherine slide her arms around his solid waist, clasping her hands together behind his back and squeezed herself flat against his sturdy body.

"Hold me tighter, Vincent, please ..."

She spoke softly, and in response, his strong arms drew about her, gathering her closer as he rested his chin gently on the top of her head.

"Tighter ..." She implored.

"Catherine ..." Her name was an anguished sound on his lips. "Tell me what troubles you so ..." His voice was very low and husky now.

"Bad day at the office ..." She sighed deeply.

Vincent lifted his chin from the top of her head and drew back from her slightly, to look down into her big, grey eyes.

"Catherine ..." His expression told her better than any words that he knew that she was not telling him the truth, and that her subterfuge hurt him more than anything that she might have to say to him.

"Vincent ..." She sighed raggedly, lowering her gaze.

"Catherine, you cannot hide it from me. I felt your mood earlier today, your need. Your hunger ..." He sighed roughly, pulling away from her now to walk across the terrace towards the slightly open French windows.

"It's nothing, Vincent ..." She tried to pass if off lightly, but noted the sudden hardening of his beautiful eyes, like twin chips of blue ice, anger dancing there now.

"No Catherine, it is not _**nothing ..."**_ Now he spoke in a voice that was very low, and gruff with emotion. "I know, without the need for words, Catherine ..."

"What is it that you think you know, Vincent ..."

"I know your ... struggle, Catherine. I have felt your need. You try to deny it, even to yourself, but, I _**know**_ what you yearn for ..."

"Vincent ..." She took a step forward, but he swiftly took a step back from her spinning around to pace back and forth against the backdrop of the faintly illuminated living room, beyond the French windows, his cloak floating around his booted ankles, his beautiful mane caught in a slight breeze, lifting gently from his broad shoulders.

"Catherine, you want ..." He turned back to face her, beautiful deep azure eyes filled with tears now.

"I want_** you**_, Vincent! Now. Always. Forever. That's_** all**_ I want. _**You**_!" She told him earnestly, her voice tight with unshed tears. "Nothing else matters ..."

"But it _**does**_, Catherine, and I know that loving me is not enough for you, Catherine."

"Yes it is ..." She exclaimed.

"No, Catherine ..." He took a deep breath and then expelled it slowly. "It can never be enough, Catherine, when you yearn for that which I cannot give you ..." He paused, wrestling with some inner demon for a moment. "A child ..."

Tears were rolling down his cheeks now, and Catherine longed to go to him, to pull him into her arms and make the pain go away.

_**This**_ was why she had deliberately tried to keep this from him.

Hadn't she known that he would find a way to make it_** his**_ fault, somehow.

"You don't know that, Vincent," she reminded him softly, staying where she was. "With love, all things are possible ..."

"Not this. Not this, Catherine. Not for us ..."

"How do you know?" She asked sadly.

"Look at me, Catherine,_** look**_ at _**me**_ ..." He beseeched. "Look at me and tell me that you want a child ... like this ... _**my**_ child ..." His top lip twisted into a cynical, bitter sneer.

"I do, Vincent ..."

"No Catherine. You deserve to have a child with a man who can give you everything ... everything ..." His voice trailed away briefly. "A man like ... Elliott Burch."

"I don't love Elliott Burch! I love _**you**_, Vincent, and don't be so quick to push me into another man's arms ..." She regarded him with steely grey eyes. "We have been through this before, Vincent. I love _**you**_, and I want to be with _**you**_, child, or no child. It makes no difference to me. I know only this, I don't want a child with _**any**_ _**other**_ man, and I don't want a child at all, until you and I can be together. Always. In our own home, living as man and wife,_** together **_..."

Vincent regarded her sadly, part of him rejoicing that she could even consider such a future, but realistic enough to know that it was beyond their reach, tears rolling down his long, rough whiskered chin, his large, pronounced Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat, as he swallowed hard several times.

"Catherine, you deserve a better life than any I could offer you," he said at last, in a low, husky voice, fighting to keep his emotions under control.

"Vincent, there is no life without you," she told him in a soft, steady voice. "What do I have to do to make you believe me?" She asked solemnly.

"There is nothing that you can say, Catherine. We must end. We must ... _**you**_ must move on, make a new life for yourself with a man who can love you as you deserve to be loved, who can give you the children that you crave ..."

"Vincent, _**you**_ are that man ... the _**only**_ man that I want ..."

"Goodbye Catherine ..." He whispered.

"No, Vincent, wait!" She moved to follow him across the terrace. "Vincent, please. Wait!" She implored, but he was gone, as swiftly and as silently as he had arrived, melting into the shadows, fleet of foot, silent, carrying her heart away with him.

Why wouldn't he believe her?

Why?

He was her life ...

Her world ...

Everything ...

Why wouldn't he believe her?

Why did he still not know how deeply she loved him? What he meant in her life?

Or did he know? Deep in his heart?

Was it that he simply did not want to allow himself to believe, because to do so, would make him vulnerable, more vulnerable than he already was?

How could he throw it all away like that?

_**Damn him**_!

Damn his nobility!

She didn't want anyone else!

She wanted _**Vincent**_.

And yes, she wanted _**Vincent's**_ child.

No matter how hard_** he**_ found that to believe.

She wanted _**his**_ child.

When her mind's eye threw up an image of the infant that she longed to cradle at her breast, it was his beloved face, those tranquil, soulful cobalt blue eyes, framed by that wonderful red/gold mane that she saw.

But how did she make him understand?

Why didn't he know it?

When he could feel everything that she felt?

Catherine had no answers, and with an aching heart, shaking with shock and with tears running down her pale, cool cheeks, she carried her empty coffee mug back indoors, and closed the French windows behind her, dumping the mug on the dining room table before heading to the sanctuary of her bedroom, where she threw herself down on the bed, burying her face in the soft, lace edged pillows, and wept until she could weep no more, sobbing until she thought that her heart would break, until, finally, she succumbed to the void of mercifully, dreamless sleep .

/a\

Vincent barely made it to the safety of the tunnels beneath Catherine's apartment building before he was overcome with emotion, and the enormity of what he had just done.

Blinded by scalding tears and buffeted by Catherine's despair as she succumbed to her own emotions, still linked empathically, as they always would be, no matter how much distance he tried to put between them.

Vincent leaned heavily against the first wall that he stumbled into, breathing hard, and gave into violent, heart wrenching sobs, bowing his head so that his beautifully fluffy hair fell in a rough curtain around his face.

A mighty roar tore from his throat, and echoed around the gloom that surrounded him, as he threw back his head and voiced his pain and despair.

He was sobbing so hard, his chest felt as thought it was about to burst, his lungs burning, tears streaming hotly down his rough ginger whiskered cheeks, his mind in turmoil, his heart beating erratically, thundering in his ears.

"Catherine ..." He sobbed her name with such anguish. "Oh Catherine ... Catherine ..." He choked out thickly, feeling through their unique link, Catherine's heartache, disbelief, fear, actual physical pain to match his own, wondering if his heart would explode with the agony of it all.

He threw back his head and let out another full throated cry of torment, then another and another, before falling to his knees in the dust, utterly exhausted, bereft, fighting to draw precious oxygen into his starving lungs.

"Forgive me Catherine, and know that I will always love you. Always ..." He panted raggedly, burying his face in his fur covered, sharply clawed hands.

In his chamber, down in the very bowels of the earth, beneath the bustling Metropolis that was New York City, Jacob Wells heard his beloved adopted son's tormented cries, and they tore at his heart, as he wondered what had transpired between Vincent and the woman that he loved.

_**Dear God ... what now**_?

Jacob held his face in his hands and let out a deep sigh.

There always seemed to be _**something**_ just lately. Something to agonize over. Something to torture themselves with.

_**What now**_? Jacob wondered with another soft sigh.

Surely love wasn't meant to be like _**this**_?

Bringing such pain, such heartache.

He didn't remember it being like this in his day.

Such agony was for after, when love was lost, destroyed, thrown away ...

Like ...

Life after, Margaret ...

Their time together had been so brief ...

But so sweet ...

Ah yes ...

So sweet ...

As were the last seven days that they had shared here, Below, before her death ...

These young people did not know that they were born!

And it was high time that someone told them both so!

Neither of them seemed to realize the effect all this emotional turbulence was having on the people closest to them.

Love was meant to bring happiness.

Not such ...

Despair ...

Distress ...

"Father?" Jacob tore his thoughts back to the present and smiled apologetically at his companion, Mary, who had stayed to chat over one last cup of tea before retiring for the evening. "Was that ..."

"Vincent? Yes." He sighed deeply.

"I wonder what is troubling him?" Mary lowered her gaze coyly, suddenly finding the pretty floral pattern on her bone china tea cup and saucer of great interest.

"Oh, I can guarantee that this 'trouble' has a name, Mary ..."

"Catherine?" She smiled softly.

"Catherine ..." He confirmed with another sigh, and this time, Mary looked up and smiled shyly.

"Young love ..."

"Young love ... middle aged love ... elderly love ... love is _**love**_, Mary ... not this tortured, anguished limbo ..." Jacob sighed deeply again. "I'm sorry, my dear. I really should go to him ..."

"Of course, Father ..." She made to rise from her seat opposite him, but he stilled her with a raised, half gloved hand.

"No need to rush away, Mary. Stay and finish your tea," he smiled softly. "With any luck, I won't be gone too long ..."

He rose stiffly from his seat then, and leaned heavily against his old walking stick as he tried to get his balance.

"Ah, Mary ..." He sighed deeply. "Why can't my son have ordinary problems, like other men? Why can't he tear his hair out over finding the odd grey hair, agonize over acne, or worry over middle aged spread, like the rest of us?"

"Because he is Vincent," Mary grinned.

"Yes ..." Jacob conceded with a soft smile.

"And we wouldn't have him any other way."

"No," Jacob grinned affectionately back at Mary, his love for the younger man evident in the softness of his voice, and the merry twinkle in his deep, sapphire blue eyes.

"I hope it's nothing serious, Father ..."

"I too," And with that, Jacob limped slowly out of his chamber.

/a\

It was only a short distance from his own chamber to that of his beloved son, and Jacob Wells did not anticipate finding Vincent there, yet.

The cries of despair, although loud, had come from some distance, and Jacob suspected that Vincent would take his time in returning, knowing that his father would be concerned and require an explanation.

In his son's familiar chamber, with it's statues, books and profusion of softly flickering candles, and the tranquil yellow glow of the beautiful arch of stained glass beside the big wooden bed, Jacob felt at home, as he limped over to the bed, and sat down very carefully on the springy mattress.

Vincent had done some tidying since the last time that Jacob had visited and he smiled, as he recalled the running battle that the pair had had in Vincent's childhood, about his inability to keep things neat, and pick up after himself.

It had taken time, but Vincent had finally learned that lesson well, especially after Devin's departure, when he had no-one else but himself to blame for the constant mess.

Jacob smiled softly to himself.

Despite their many disagreements over the years, differences of opinion, clash of wills, call it what you would. Their relationship was a good one.

Strong.

Loving.

Close.

Enduring.

He had tried to be a good father, to all the children in his care, here, Below.

But, somehow, it had been easier to be a father to Vincent.

And Vincent had proved to be a wonderful son.

Thoughtful.

Considerate.

Loving ...

His high intellect a challenge to the world weary Jacob Wells, keeping him very much on his toes.

And Jacob, although marveling that such a situation could have arisen, so unexpectedly, hated to see Vincent in such turmoil over his relationship with Catherine Chandler.

Sudden heavy, shuffling footsteps outside the chamber entrance brought Jacob Wells out of his reverie, and silent contemplation, and he watched the entrance, awaiting the arrival of his son, with a deep sigh.

The sight that greeted him, as Vincent entered the chamber, took Jacob Wells completely by surprise, and shook him to his very core.

Vincent, clothes disheveled, hair a riot of frizz, face wet with twin trails of tears, moved stiltedly and slowly, as he entered the chamber, shoulders slumped dejectedly ... breathing hard.

But ...

It was what Jacob Wells saw in his son's eyes that frightened him more than anything.

Those usually so expressive, soulful, beautiful cobalt blue eyes were empty, dead, if the very spark of life had gone from them.

And Vincent's expression tore at Jacob's heart.

Such grief.

"Vincent?" Jacob spoke softly, his voice filled with concern as the young man lumbered towards him, falling heavily to his knees before his father, head bowed, shoulders shaking beneath his dark, heavy cloak, as silent sobs wracked his upper body.

"Dear God, Vincent, Jacob groaned as his son dropped his head into his father's lap and sobbed bitterly. "Ae you ill?" He asked with real concern, disturbed by Vincent's disheveled appearance and his general demeanor. "What is it? Tell me, please ..."

Silence was his only reply, and tentatively, Jacob Wells reached out and laid a warm, comforting hand on his son's bowed head, feeling the silky softness of that glorious man of red/gold hair beneath his fingers.

"Vincent, please talk to me ..." He coaxed softly, gently stroking the younger man's hair in a reassuring rhythm.

"Oh Father ..." Vincent said thickly, lifting his head at last, and Jacob Wells was once again shocked by the utter desolation and grief that he found in Vincent's tear filled, red rimmed eyes, and he felt his heart constrict in his chest.

"Vincent, has something happened? Has something happened to ... Catherine?" Jacob asked in a small voice, watching his son's reaction very carefully.

The younger man closed his eyes, squeezing out fresh tears from between his fine, light lashes, swallowed hard and bowed his head more, his hair falling forward once again, to conceal his tear streaked face.

"Vincent?" Jacob probed gently again.

"We are ... ended!" Vincent choked out at last.

Jacob Wells let out a deep sigh of relief.

For one awful moment there, he had feared that something terrible had happened to Catherine. Her job was constantly putting her in danger, and consequently, put Vincent in danger too, in his need to protect her.

Jacob was relieved to discover that it was nothing more serious than a lover's tiff, although, Vincent's reaction to it was certainly more than he would have expected, for a silly spat.

"You have had a falling out?" He enquired softly, reaching out to lift his son's rough whiskered chin with his right index finger. "I'm sure that whatever she said, she did not mean it, Vincent ... a spur of the moment thing ..." He assured softly.

"No Father, you do not understand," Vincent spoke in a low, ragged voice. "It was _**I**_ who ended it ..."

"You? Oh ..." Jacob sighed deeply.

"Yes, I ..." Fresh tears sprang into Vincent's deep aqua eyes, and he dropped his head once more.

"Vincent, is there ... Is there someone else? Has Catherine found ..."

"_**No**_!" Vincent's head snapped up sharply then, twin trails of salt water slowly making their way down his cheeks to his chin. "No ..."

"Then I don't understand, Vincent," Jacob sighed raggedly. "You love Catherine, whatever made you decide upon this course of action?" He frowned.

"It is best ..."

"Best?" Jacob retorted. "Best for whom? Dear God, Vincent, why didn't you just take a knife and plunge it into your heart?" He rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation. "If you are so bent on self destruction ..."

Vincent remained silent for a long moment, his misery evident in the set of his shoulders and his still bowed head.

"Tell me, Vincent ..." Jacob's voice was softer now, still edged with concern.

He had never seen Vincent in quite such a state of despair, and he realized that whatever had transpired between his son and Catherine Chandler, it was serious.

Far more serious than he had first thought, at any rate.

"Come along now, Vincent, calm down and let us talk about this, rationally, calmly, see if we can't find a solution to the problem, whatever that might be ..."

His gentle, loving hands coaxed Vincent to his feet at last, and he shuffled along the bed, making room for the younger man to sit beside him.

Vincent sat down heavily, and buried his face in his hands once more.

Jacob Wells let out a deep sigh.

"Vincent ..."

"Talking will change nothing, Father ..." This in an infinitely sad little voice. "We are ended. I must move on ..." His voice cracked then, and still more silent sobs shook his body.

"Can't you tell me, Vincent?" Jacob implored. "How can I help you, if you won't tell me?" He reasoned softly. "Vincent, please, stop this, now. You are going to make yourself ill ..."

Jacob reached out for his son's large, fur covered, half gloved hand, squeezing it gently.

"Vincent, we have always been able to talk, you and I, about anything ... everything ..."

"I know, but, words ... words are inadequate, Father ..." Vincent choked out.

"Any words would be better than this torture, Vincent. Please, tell me. Why have you broken up with Catherine? Did she do something to upset you? Hurt you?"

"_**No**_!"

"Vincent, please, _**tell me**_! What am I to think if you don't? I ask again. Has Catherine done something to hurt you?"

"No ... not directly ..."

"Oh?" Jacob frowned, finding his son's reluctance to share his pain a new and uncomfortable experience. "Vincent ..."

"Father ..." Vincent began reluctantly, still refusing to raise his head. "For some months now, I have felt a restlessness in Catherine ..." He explained thickly.

"Restlessness?" Jacob frowned again.

"A yearning. A deep need, which she has tried to conceal from me, but, still ... I _**feel**_ it ..."

"A yearning for what, Vincent? I don't understand. A deep need for what exactly?" Jacob asked softly.

"For that which I cannot give her ..." Vincent looked up then, regarding Father with big, forlorn bright blue eyes, his beloved face awash with tears, fluffy hair clinging to his wet cheeks.

"A ... child ..." The word came out on a very soft breath, and Vincent looked away quickly, bowing his head even deeper.

Jacob Wells let out a soft sigh, fighting the urge to smile.

So-o-o-o ...

Catherine was feeling ... broody ...

It happened sometimes, to women of her age, career women who, having made a conscious choice early in life, began to question that decision as their hormones made them selves known and they felt the passing of time, and opportunities, especially when other women around them, at work, or within their close circle of friends, were having babies.

With some women, it was just a passing phase, time to re-evaluate that choice made in youth, when there had seemingly been plenty of time.

But for others, it could be more serious. Sometimes even becoming an obsession.

However, in Catherine's case, he did not think that it was the latter.

More likely, she was re-accessing her life choices, especially as she was now in a relationship with a man that she claimed to love deeply.

It hadn't mattered quite so much before, when she had had no steady beau in her life.

Now it was a new factor to take into consideration.

Jacob didn't know whether to kiss the boy, or shake him until he came to his senses!

All this woe ...

Because Catherine was feeling clucky!

A _**strong**_ biological _**need**_ for motherhood, to fulfill her bodies most _**natural**_ function.

Dear God, heaven knows how the boy would react if anything truly serious ever occurred to the woman that he loved!

"Vincent, what exactly did Catherine tell you? Did she actually tell you that she wants to have a baby?"

"No ..."

"Have you spoken of it at all?"

"No, not exactly ... well ... briefly ... this evening ..."

"Oh Vincent," Jacob reached out and patted his son's hand affectionately. "Sometime, my boy, I despair of you, I really do ..." This brought Vincent's head up now, as he regarded his father curiously.

"Let me see if I have gotten this right ..." Jacob sighed softly. "Catherine is feeling broody, and you took it upon yourself to make the decision to give her up, so that she could have a family with a man from the world Above? A very noble act, Vincent, very noble indeed, and incredibly insensitive and selfish too!"

"Father?" A note of incredulity crept into Vincent's voice now, his eyes widening slightly. "What else could I have done?"

"Talked?" Jacob suggested ruefully. "Did it not occur to you to discuss this with Catherine?"

"No, it just happened tonight. Her sorrow ... her obvious need, tore at my heart, and I knew that I had to take action, had to be strong. I love her. I love her enough to let her go ..." He blinked away fresh tears, although he had stopped sobbing now.

"No Vincent, you by-passed the problem and totally avoided trying to deal with it."

"Deal with it? Father, there is no way to deal with it ..."

"What? Why?" Jacob stared at his son with incredulous sapphire blue eyes.

"Father ..."

"No, Vincent, explain yourself ..."

The younger man remained silent, awkward, withdrawn ...

Embarrassed ...

"Come on, Vincent, pull yourself together, and think this through. Tell me exactly what happened, what you said to Catherine, and what Catherine said to you. _**Exactly**_ ..." Jacob invited softly.

"I told Catherine that she deserved a better life than any I could offer her, that she should find a man to love who could give her the children that she craves ..."

Jacob Wells regarded his son with undisguised exasperation.

_**Insensitive clod**_!

"And?"

"Catherine said that _**I**_ was the man that she wanted, and wanted to be with, child or no child. That she did not want a child with any other man, indeed, did not want a child at all until we could be together, living in our own home, as man and wife ..."

"Vincent ..." Jacob moaned softly.

"What, Father?"

"Think about what you just said for a moment ..." Vincent merely frowned. "It sounds to me like Catherine knows her own mind. Sounds to me like she has given this a lot of thought, quietly, calmly, rationally, which is certainly more than I can say for you!"

"Please, Father, what Catherine wants is ... impossible ... impossible ..." Vincent shook his head sadly.

"Impossible? You don't know that, Vincent. You cannot know that for sure ..."

"Father ... look at me ..."

"Vincent, did you hear one word that Catherine said to you? Or were you too caught up in the nobility, the selflessness, of the act of letting her go?"

Vincent tilted his head, birdlike, on one side, and regarded his father with a thoughtful expression.

"Vincent, I think you missed the point ..." Jacob Wells sighed in exasperation. "Vincent, you love Catherine, and she loves you. You of all people should know what a gift that is, what a miracle, and she told you, in no uncertain terms, that she wants to be _**with you**_, have a family, _**with you**_. What part of that did you _**not**_ understand, my boy?" Jacob asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"I ..." Vincent mumbled thickly.

"Good Lord, Vincent! Your Catherine is a remarkable woman, a truly remarkable woman ..." Jacob grinned broadly.

"But Father ...you do not understand ..."

"Yes I do, Vincent," Jacob sighed deeply then. "Yes I do. Let me tell you something about women, Vincent, yes, they are complex creatures, and it takes a very patient, sensitive, sympathetic man to truly understand their psyche, but oh ... the joy ... the bliss, when you do understand the way that their minds work. You of all people should be able to work out Catherine. You_** feel**_ what she_** feels**_. You keep nothing from each other ..."

"Father ..." Now it was Vincent's turn to regard his beloved father with exasperation.

"Vincent, when a woman considers having a child, she does so very carefully, especially in regard to the timing, and when considering the man who is to be the father of that child. Do you understand?" Jacob explained patiently, ignoring his son's pained look, before Vincent lowered his intense blue eyes.

"Vincent, if Catherine has decided that _**you**_ are to be the father of any child that she might conceive, then you can be sure that she has considered that such a child might be _**like you**_. It is not such a giant leap of logic to make, Vincent. Catherine loves you. How much harder could it be to love your child? What could be more natural?"

Vincent considered this for a moment, looking up again to regard his father with hopeful blue eyes now.

His heart was soaring with the realization that Catherine had indeed thought about the possibility of their having more than just a future together, of having a child together, some thing that he had never dared to dream about ...

But ...

It was not as simple as that.

"It can never be ..." He sighed forlornly, although, now that he had time to think about it. He was incredibly touched, flattered, but, wanting it and having it, were two completely different things.

"Why can it never be, Vincent?" Father asked in solemn tones, frowning. "Vincent, from distant memory, anatomically, you are ... male. You have all the right equipment, an abundance of testosterone ..." Embarrassment made Vincent look away from Jacob Wells then, and hang his head once more. "If everything is in good working order, which we have no reason to doubt, who says that it can never be? Nature has a habit of finding ways to adapt, to overcome the seemingly impossible, Vincent. How do you know, until you try?"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, when Vincent refused to look up again, and meet his father's inquisitive gaze, and a thought suddenly occurred to Jacob Wells.

"Vincent, have you and Catherine ... are you and Catherine ... _**intimate**_?" He asked softly.

"No ..." Vincent confessed raggedly.

"Oh, I see ..." There was a hint of surprise in his voice, which drew Vincent's reluctant lapis lazuli gaze at last. "I thought ... perhaps ..."

"Father ... please ..."

"There is no need to be embarrassed, my boy. In time, when you are _**both**_ ready, nature will take it's course ..." Jacob tried to smother a smile in his whiskers.

"No ... never ..."

"Oh come now ..."

"No Father, that is a side to my relationship with Catherine that can _**never**_ be ..."

"Never?"

"Never." Vincent confirmed.

"_**Never**_ is a _**long**_ time, Vincent ..." Jacob sighed deeply.

"I know ..."

"But why?" Jacob frowned. "Sexual intimacy is a normal, healthy, natural part of life, Vincent. Have you been denying yourself all this time?" He asked with genuine concern.

"It has never been a concern. Not since Lisa, and certainly not before Catherine came into my life ..."

"Vincent ..."

"No Father ..."

"Vincent ..."

"I said_** leave it**_, Father ..." There was anger in Vincent's tone now, but at least that was a damned sight better than this morbid self pity, to Jacob Wells way of thinking. "It is over ... ended ... Please respect my decision ..."

"No Vincent, not this time. You are wrong. _**Wrong.**_ _**You**_ are the one throwing up obstacles and barriers to your happiness, Vincent, future and present happiness. _**You**_. It is all there, right in front of you, all you have to do is _**reach out**_ and _**take it**_! You cannot allow fear to come between you and what you want."

"Fear?" Vincent's deep, cobalt blue eyes narrowed at this comment.

"Yes, Vincent, fear. Fear of losing that rigid control that you pride yourself in, fear of making yourself vulnerable, fear of allowing Catherine to see you at possibly less than your best, fear of succumbing to the same basic needs as every other man on the planet!" Jacob continued, regardless of the scathing looks that his son was aiming in his direction.

"Vincent, you are no different to any of us, no different at all. You cannot deny that you want a family. I_** know**_ just how deeply you crave that, and the opportunity is right there, before you. Maybe not right now, but at some point in the future. All you have to do is reach out and take it, Vincent. _**Reach out and take it**_. Don't be afraid to allow yourself to be happy, Vincent, to believe that you deserve all of life's gifts and treasures, because you _**do**_. Don't be afraid to deserve Catherine's love. Don't be afraid to strive to make your dreams come true. It is easy to say that something is impossible, Vincent, but it takes courage to admit that you _**want**_ something, _**need**_ something, and to_** do**_ something about it!"

"But Father ..."

"Vincent, this love that you and Catherine share, it is a miracle, a blessing. Don't be so hasty to push it away. It is a gift. Accept it graciously, and all that goes along with it. _**All**_ that goes along with it, Vincent. Trust in Catherine. Trust in her love for you. Trust yourself. You have nothing to fear,_** nothing**_, and _**everything**_ to gain. It is all part of life's rich tapestry. go out there and live life to the full my boy."

"Can I, Father ... Am I ... man ... enough?"

"Catherine thinks so. She loves you for what you are, Vincent. You know that. And I know so, in your heart. The rest? Well, who knows? You are who and what you are, Vincent. That is all that anyone can ask you to be, and you have to make the most of the life that you have been granted, and that means experiencing all of it's pleasures, and pains and disappointments."

You have given me much to think about, Father ..."

"Don't _**think**_, Vincent! You think too much sometimes ..." Jacob Wells sighed, rolling his eyes expressively. "Actions speak louder than words, my boy. You should be talking this over with Catherine, not an old crock like me ..." He grinned then. "Why don't you tidy yourself up a little, and then go back and talk to Catherine? She must be feeling pretty low right now."

"Yes, although, she is sleeping right now. Cried herself to sleep ..." Vincent confessed, hanging his head briefly in shame and regret. "But, before that ... she was ... sick ... desolate ... confused ..." He hesitated, sighing softly. "Hurt ..."

"Yes, but it will be all right, my boy. You have the wherewithall to make it right, Vincent, and Vincent ... if you have known about this for some time, it is a pity that you did not think to confide in me sooner. I could perhaps have spared you both all this ... heartache ..."

Vincent tilted his head on one side, birdlike, and regarded Jacob Wells with intense, cobalt blue eyes.

"Father?"

"Vincent, what Catherine is feeling, is quite natural. Instinct at work, but ... it does not always follow that she would want to _**act**_ on those feelings, instincts ..." Jacob explained. "She has been forced to face up to the fact that time is growing short, if she is ever going to have a child, and now that she knows with whom she _**wants**_ to have such a child, the rest. Well, if it is meant to be, Vincent, then so be it. You should be flattered, Vincent. What better way to discover how deeply the woman that you love, loves you, wants you, wants to be as close to you as two people can be, because, if Catherine has thought about having a child with you, Vincent, five will get you ten that she has also thought about ... _**making love with you**_ ..." Jacob advised sagely, keeping a straight face only by the greatest of effort, at the sight of the expression on his son's face.

His wonderful son was such ... an innocent ...

Vincent's beautiful, innocent, intelligent, bright blue eyes grew wide, and his bottom jaw suddenly dropped open.

"Oh Vincent, you can't have one ... without the other ..." Jacob gave into the urge to grin then, reaching out to ruffle is son's beautiful red/gold mane affectionately, then pushed damp tendrils of his hair from his still wet cheek.

"Thank you, Father," Vincent spoke in low, velvet tones, as he reached out and pulled the older man gently into the circle of his arms, in a tender, brief, but heartfelt embrace. "I love you ..."

"I know, my boy, and I love you, and, I know that you love Catherine too. So do not be afraid to show it ... accept it ... _**glory**_ in it, my boy ... it seems ... to be your destiny. So ... accept it ... and ... be happy ..."

/a\

Catherine Chandler woke suddenly, with a start, her head thudding, her eyes hot and gritty after her bout of weeping, her pillows damp and rumpled.

A quick glance at the luminous dial of her bedside clock informed her that it was 1.00am, and she let out a long, low groan.

She rose stiffly, brushing her hair back from her face impatiently with her hand as she walked, lead-legged into the bathroom, where she opened the mirror fronted medicine cabinet on the wall, and took out aspirin, carefully and deliberately avoiding her reflection in the mirror, already knowing that she looked a wreck.

She stripped out of her work clothes, splashing cool, refreshing water on to her overheated cheeks, and wrapped herself in a thick, terry cloth robe, over fresh, baby blue silk pyjamas, after swallowing the aspirin, then went directly to the kitchen.

Once there, leaving the lights off, Catherine opened the ice box and pulled out her emergency cure-all, a two litre tub of double double chocolate chip ice cream with sticky chocolate fudge sauce, sitting on the cold tiled kitchen floor, legs stretched out in front of her, and as was her want when a deep, black depression settled over her, began to make inroads in the carton of ice cream, not even tasting it as she repeatedly shoveled down huge mouthfuls.

A sudden soft tap against the glass in the French windows sent the spoon and the carton of ice cream clattering to the floor, as Catherine jumped to her feet and went running into the living room, stopping just short of the steps to the French windows as she spotted the familiar silhouette looming large on the terrace beyond.

A lump rose in her throat ...

Fresh tears stung in her eyes ...

For it was only as she saw him, standing there that she fully realized that she had truly believed that she would never see him again.

He had been so ... determined ...

Stubborn ...

Unreasonable ...

_**Male ...**_

She sniffed softly, and brushed impatiently at her tears, swallowed hard, then marched up to the French windows and flung them wide open, uncaring of the sudden drop in temperature between the living room and the terrace.

Vincent stood before her, hair being teased across his cheek by a gentle breeze, deep set, deep azure eyes, unfathomable, half in shadow, but she could see enough to see evidence of tears on his cheeks, and the redness around his beautiful eyes, as he held her with a steady gaze.

Catherine regarded him solemnly, silently, expectantly, taking in his solemn air, the dejected set of his broad shoulders, and she knew that he looked as bad as she felt.

And he surely _**knew**_ how _**bad**_ that was ...

She stood before him, opening up her emotions to him, bearing her soul to him through their empathic connection, wanting to leave him in no doubt that she loved him, in ways that she had never dreamed possible, with a depth and sincerity that she had not known that she possessed.

And ...

Wanting to hide nothing from him ...

Also leaving him in no doubt that his actions earlier had truly hurt her, deeply.

"Catherine ..." Vincent spoke at last, his voice low and husky, rough with emotion. "Catherine ... can you ever forgive me?"

"That rather depends on you, Vincent. Do you plan to make a habit of making big decisions that involve both of us, on your own?" Her tone was icy.

She had had enough of well meaning people trying to make her life choices for her.

She was a grown woman and she knew her own mind.

Her father had always done it, unable to accept that she knew what was best for herself, until she had taken the bull by the horns and left his law firm for a career with the DA's office, even then, he hadn't really understood, although, these days, he had to accept that it was a reality, and that nothing was going to change the choice that she had made.

Even Joe Maxwell, once they had gotten over the initial iciness and distrust of each other in their working relationship, until they had recognized the boundaries of that relationship, thought that he had a right to tell her what she should or should not be doing with her life.

But she had soon set him straight.

Vincent knew this, knew how important her independence was to her, and he had to realize that he could not take over where her father left off.

"No," Vincent replied softly, lowering his gaze in shame. He knew that he deserved her anger, scorn, but, he could sense that she wasn't really angry with him, so much as, disappointed.

Disappointed that he did not respect her enough to know that she would confide in him, all her secret longings, her heart's greatest desires, because they _**included**_ him ... because she wanted to _**share**_ them _**with him**_ ...

"Me neither, Vincent," Catherine sighed deeply, releasing the tension that she had been feeling in her neck and shoulders, her heart. "If I ever decide to have a baby, I would expect you to help me to make that decision, because it would affect both of us, Vincent. Not just me," she spoke softly, remaining just inside the French windows, keeping the threshold between them as a kind of comfort zone.

"Vincent, there is a difference between _**wanting**_ and _**having**_ ..." She sighed deeply again, after a lengthy silence when he just stared at her with big, forlorn blue eyes, hardly blinking, his hair caught in the gentle breeze and catching on his rough whiskered cheeks.

"Yes, I acknowledge the biological need to have a child, and yes, I do want a child, some day, when the timing is right ... for _**both**_ of _**us**_ ..."

For his part, Vincent stood silently, allowing Catherine to say her piece, his first mistake earlier, and one that had cost him ... both of them ... dearly,

Astounded to find that, despite his high handed behavior earlier, and the fact that he had hurt her, deeply .

Catherine still loved him.

_**Wanted **_him ...

.

_**Needed **_him ...

_**Desired **_him ...

Yes ...

Father was right ...

Catherine was a truly remarkable woman.

And what they had together was far too precious to throw away on a whim.

"And I do mean _**us**_," Catherine concluded forlornly.

"I know, Catherine," he hung his head then. "I am so ... ashamed ..." He confessed raggedly, his voice low and intense.

"Oh Vincent, I love you!" Catherine's heart melted, and she walked toward him quickly, and threw herself into his open arms, burying her face in the familiar expanse of his warm, broad chest, letting out a deep sigh, as her tears soaked into the rough material of his cloak.

"Catherine ..." He groaned.

"Sh, it's all right, my love."

Without moving away from him, Catherine reached up and twined her fingers into his beautiful mane, drawing his head down, until his forehead rested against the top of her head.

"Catherine ..." He sobbed softly as she held on tightly to him.

"Vincent, listen to me! You_** know**_ me, I already tell you everything that I am thinking, and you always know what I am feeling. so-o-o, why is it that you still distrust me? Why do you still disbelieve me?"

"I ... I ..." He stammered between sobs. "I never dared ... I never dreamed ..." He choked out at last.

"Vincent," Catherine moved back slightly and as his forehead slipped from the top of her head, she captured his tear streaked face in gentle hands, cupping his cheeks and lifting his head carefully, so that he had no choice but to look her directly in the eyes, eyes that were big and sad and full of the love that she felt for him.

"I love you, Vincent. _**Believe it**_. That will _**never**_ change. Never. Do you hear me?" She implored softly. "You must stop believing that you are unworthy. Stop thinking that you don't deserve this gift. You do, my love. You do, more so than any other person I have ever known," Catherine told him in a low, deep, intense voice. "_**Believe it**_, Vincent."

"I ..." He dropped his eyes from her gaze then. "I ... I want to ..."

"Vincent, love is meant to bring happiness, joy, not this constant anxiety, heartache, soul-searching ..." Catherine sighed deeply. "So why do we keep beating ourselves up? Why do we make it more complicated than it already is? Why are we so hard on ourselves, Vincent? You especially. Why don't we just accept that whatever happens, happens for a reason, that whatever comes from our love for each other is good, and right and meant to be?"

She paused briefly, lifting his rough whiskered cheek slightly higher to draw his pained, cobalt blue eyes.

"Vincent, love means giving and taking. You give me so much, happiness, joy, love, security, contentment ... Don't be afraid to take those things from me, for yourself." She told him huskily, all her love for him shining in her wide grey eyes, for him to see. "They are given freely, Vincent, from my heart, just as you give them to me. So take them, cherish them, as I do."

"Catherine ..." The anguish in his voice tore at her heart.

"Vincent, to me, you are very beautiful. You are the only man that I want. Always. Forever. I want you to love me, to make love to me, and yes, I want you to give me a child, one day ... soon ..." She paused deliberately then.

"In time, when we are both ready, when you are comfortable, sure ... We have all the time in the world, Vincent ..."

She paused again, lowering her head briefly as she drew in a deep, calming, cleansing breath.

"I don't know how else to _**tell**_ you ... _**show you**_ ... make you _**believe**_ ... _**I love you**_ ... _**I love you**_ ... with every fibre of my being ... Vincent ... _**I ... love ...**_ _**you **_..."

"I love you too, Catherine ... always ..."

"I believe you, Vincent," She told him without hesitation, in a steady voice, a gentle smile curving at the corners of her lips then, as she regarded him with unwavering grey/green eyes.

"I _**believe**_ you, Vincent, because you say so. I don't have the benefit of being able to _**feel**_ what you _**feel**_, but, I know that it is true, because you would not say it if it were not."

She was still holding his dear face between her warm hands, smoothing away his

tears with gentle thumbs now.

"Oh Catherine ... I have been such a fool ..." He moaned softly.

"Yes, you have, Vincent, and, Vincent ... the next time you try to push me into Elliot Burch's arms, I'll push you over the balcony wall!" Her eyes were sparkling with amusement and tears of love now.

"Catherine ..."

"Vincent," Catherine reached up with one hand to cup the back of his head, drawing his beloved face closer to her own. _"__**Shut up**_," she whispered against his soft lips, her voice low and full of promises for the future. "And _**kiss me**_, my love ..."


End file.
